mr. calvin's last letter to earline
earline, earline, i have told you too many times of the pain on my heart caused mostly by the lack of your love and consideration. earline i have grown tired and i walk on my all fours like a dog and ride your countless kin around this city hoping to catch a whiff of you in their saggy drawers and pockets. earline there is a gleam of beauty that is the sheen of your forehead and wide cheeks but it is also the sin i see surfacing on your skin. earline i have breathed random like red clover or white clover which pushes nitrogen deep into weak willed, wayward soil. it is like everything else on this planet a goddamned miracle. earline i am grown tired of being torn up this way--like a glacier here drifting alone with jagged complicated edges and deep icy fathoms. i think collisional boundaries and i think you are too big to turn from me. you are with your hands and somehow voice and tired or nervous. earline don't think that bouncing light makes you blind for eternity. they turn the chinese blind into masseuses--though they don't call them that over there--but you've got those strange small hands like to be almost useless. earline how i love your useless hands and wish they could remember my number. or where my house is at or the name of the movie we saw at the drive up 7 summers ago with your grandfather in his great blue impala asking all the time for clarification. "clarification earline" he'd say over and over again "clarification".